I look for them in the creaks and sighs of my old house,
in the cats curled into alphabet letters,
in the morning silence that isn’t silent at all.
I look for them in the golden grasses of the prairie,
in the mule deer that graze by the side of the road,
in the blues, pinks and oranges of a sunrise sky.
I look for them in old notebook entries,
in the words and silences of other poems,
in the dark corners of memory.
Some days, they can’t be found at all.
by
But yet, they are still there, waiting.
I worry I’ll have a day when I can’t find poetry. Today I’m finding it in unexpected places. I love the way Georgia Heard helps me see where poems hide. And in your poem, I love these hiding places, especially the cat poses.
Lovely! Poetry is often just quietly waiting for us to find it.
Love your poem – especially the first stanza!
“Some days, they can’t be found at all.” There is a wistfulness, a melancholy that arises in me when I read that each time. Am I sad? Might you be? Is it simply a factual statement? The point is – this final line makes the poem for me, gives it an emotional anchor that stays with me even when I’ve stopped wondering about all the hiding places of poems.
“Poems hide . . . I look for them in the dark corners of memory.” Probably one of my favorite places to find poems. Love how you started each stanza the same and moved from your home to the natural world and finally, the world of words.
Wow, this offers beautiful imagery. I like how you find poetry in sounds (sighs and creaks… morning silence). I agree that the ending is sad, like a day without inspiration.
They sure do hide at times. But when they reveal themselves, it’s magical!
It was very nice of this poem to come out of hiding for the world to see.
Yes! Poetry DOES hide! Isn’t that wonderful when we find Poetry in unexpected places? Sometimes I think it is a matter of taking the time to notice.
The repetition really works for me in this poem – that, and the simple diction creating clear images. And there’s something quite wonderful about a poem that reveals itself even as it claims that some days poems can’t be found. It’s wistful, this little poem – and lovely.
Oooh, a meta poem. I like!
Oh, but this poem was found today! Glorious to my ears and lips!
And they are there, whether or not we can find the way to translate them into words.
You find them even when you can’t. Beautifully visualized.
Love this!
Beautiful! I especially like this phrase, “…creaks and sighs of my old house” and the last line. How true. I’m glad I stopped by.
the dirigible plum 
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